


Again

by Stylinonem104



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Artist Harry, Childhood Trauma, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, F/M, Gen, Harry Styles - Freeform, Harry Styles-centric, Harry-centric, Love Stories, Other, Past Child Abuse, Romance, Sweet Harry, Teen Years, Teenage One Direction, Young Harry Styles, tattoo harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 05:26:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3598044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stylinonem104/pseuds/Stylinonem104
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecilia Braddock's unbearable childhood haunts her everyday of her adult life. The brightest light she had then was him, but he left with barely a goodbye and no words after. This is what happens when he unexpectedly returns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: Cecilia

The banging against the door is unsettling but somehow I'm calm sitting here, in my mini dress, on this closed toilet seat. It's is easily the nicest hotel bathroom I've ever seen, complete with a fancy pedestal sink made of porcelain so fine and so clean you can see your reflection in it, and it perfectly complements the white marble floor. There's something in the floor tiles that make them gleam and sparkle against the lights in the ceiling, it gives off a luxurious illusion; almost like walking on diamonds. Crushed diamonds, ground into a fine glittering powder, but diamonds nonetheless.

I'm usually not particularly fond of sparkly things, but I can't deny it; this floor is beautiful.

"Open The Door, Now! I Paid Good Money For The Night."

"So. What.

I roll my eyes, deeply annoyed that he'd interrupt my attempt to appreciate the beauty of the floor, and sigh a little as I reach into the ridiculously small clutch I brought with me. It's a miracle I didn't leave it laying around somewhere because I don't usually do the whole purse or handbag thing, but I figured I needed to look the part. No self respecting high class call girl would be caught dead without a clutch. At least I don't think she would; not having one would sort of give her away as not being careful enough to blend in, and the last thing your 'date' would want you to do is standout. Discretion is key in this business, I assume.

Or maybe I'm over thinking it.

The character outside the door -who once presented himself to be a sophisticated and respectable gentleman - is now belligerently drunk and grab happy. Sure, he paid the agency for my 'companionship' for the night, but there's no way I'm sleeping with this guy. I've had more than my fair share of unwanted advances from undesirable men: the difference tonight is that I don't have to endure it. I pull a bottle of clear nail polish out of the clutch and begin painting over my bright red nails. I assume this is probably going to last a while, this tantrum fueled by hornyness and entitlement. I might as well do something moderately productive with my time.

"Bitch I said open the door!"

A very loud crack sounds as he strikes the door in violent frustration. I'm irritated more than anything else; it's rude of him to ruin the tranquility of this beautiful spa like bathroom with this sort of behavior.

"Ay man, fuck off or I'll call the cops."

I yell back, blowing on my fingernails afterwards.

"You're a whore! You can't call the cops."

"I'm a companion you dick, and I'm not fucking you, so bang all you want."

He kicks the door. I immediately feel a deeper appreciation for the strength of the lock that holds it safely shut, but the force of the blow makes the wood buckle a bit in the middle and then bounce back. It's unsettling in all honesty; the door is weakening, but his resolve is not.

This is a familiar scene to me; despite the fact that I am brand new to the world of paid escorts I am all too familiar with having a predator at my door - a wolf clawing his way in to have his way with me. The doorknob begins to shake, a few pieces of wood splinter off of the frame around the door and land against the glimmering floor.

My time is running out.

I look around frantically, looking for a way out, and smile to myself as a simple solution appears; a window placed conveniently in the wall directly across from the shower. I close my nail polish and place it safely into my clutch before tiptoeing over to the shower. The miraculous window is just big enough for me to shimmy out of, and upon peeking out of it I see that it leads to the stairs of a fire escape.

I love New York City more than anything or anywhere else in the world right now.

I pull my heels off and tuck them into the dainty little belt pulled tightly around my waist. With my clutch clenched in my teeth I climb out of the window. As my bare feet rush down the cold and rusty metal rungs of the escape ladder I smile to myself in spite of the little stings I feel on my soles; if only the girls at the home could see me now.

-

I hike from the posh Upper West Side all the way over to where my sister and I live in Harlem but I don't mind it at all. Walking freely through the city while it's as quiet as it ever can be is a privilege I think. Still I am nothing if not exhausted as I let myself into our apartment and do a wobbly legged stagger towards my room.

Di is up of course; her meticulous personality makes her an early riser, she needs as much time as possible each day to keep her life in perfect order. So it is no surprise that she stands in the kitchen at this ungodly hour, looking her usual perfectly kept way; her hair in a tight top knot with not a strand out of place, her pajamas matching and girly and wildly appropriate, as she brews coffee before there's proper daylight outside.

"If you think you can stumble in here looking like that and go straight to bed you're crazy!"

Her voice is hushed but passionate. Di never yells: it isn't dignified. I stop in the middle of the hall and curse at my feet.

"Fuck."

"Come here CeCe....And fish a five dollar bill out of that clutch for the swear jar." She taps her finger on the oversized mason jar sitting on the island in the center of the space and full to bursting with dollar bills. My dollar bills. I like cursing more than I like having money I guess. I take a seat at our homey yet completely 'on trend' and 'chic' little distressed wood table and place my head to rest on my arms, looking innocently up at her through my eyelashes. She frowns. "I thought we were past this, CeCe."

I cringe, for whenever Di repeats my nickname at the end of almost every sentence she's disappointed. Really disappointed...in me.

"I wasn't out like that Di. I was trying to work, actually."

"Where do people write novels dressed like that?"

"Not that kind of work...real work. The kind you get paid for."

" Don't lie, okay Cece?"

"I'm not. I got a call from that agency, remember?" Her eyes widen in shock but as the corners of her lips start to curve up, I can tell she's amused, possibly even a little relieved. What exactly is my life when my sister thinks me going out as an escort is better than me going out to party? "They called and I went on like a whim I guess."

"Oh no, Ce-"

"I didn't do anything! I locked myself in a bathroom and hopped out of a window. I would have been home hours ago but I walked here from the Upper West Side."

"Why?!"

"I just felt like walking."

"You're crazy."

I smile a big wide toothed smile at her. She's been calling me crazy my whole life; for a while after I got back she had tried not to. I'm glad she's not trying so hard anymore; the tiptoeing was becoming tedious.

"A little bit. Anyway, for all I know old dude is still in the elegant hotel room...but then again he's bound to have broken down the door by now, and someone will surely have called the police.... Whatever," I state with a shrug. The situation is boring to talk about in retrospect. "It doesn't really matter. My life as a high class call girl has come to a rather abrupt end."

Di shakes her head and grins at me.

"I only gave you that paper as a joke. I was just showing it to you."

It's not news to me as I stand up and stretch, but I shrug her words off anyway. I grab a croissant on my way out of the kitchen, and begin walking to my room once again.

"I took it as a dare!"

I call to her, I hear her sigh a bit but I know she's smiling.

"I feel like I should be more concerned about this than I am..."

She mutters to herself and I enter my bedroom, wanting to flop onto my mattress. I couldn't imagine being more tired than I am in this moment, and my bed - which Di has made perfectly and scattered with decorative throw pillows- is very tempting but I can't simply get in it and pass out.

I have to get out of this ridiculous dress and shower first. I feel a familiar sense of being unclean that has nothing to do with walking through city streets barefoot. I only hope the hot water can wash it away this time.

I only went to the escort date because I was bored out of my mind. I signed up with the agency as a joke when I first got out of the home, when Diane gave me a list of job leads that were all nonsense, but I hardly thought anyone would want to request me. Clearly I was wrong. I knew I'd never be able to go through with screwing some stranger in a hotel room, no matter how much money they offered. I knew I shouldn't have gone.

But I did, ignoring my better judgment. I shake my head at myself and shut the water in the shower off. I feel much better as I walk down the hall back into my room, my towel wrapped tightly around my body. I can't exactly say I feel clean, but certainly better than I did before, good enough to forget my sense and answer the call without looking as I realize that my phone is ringing and vibrating on the dresser.

My mother's deeply affected voice intrudes on the relative peace I'd found since I stopped speaking to her.

"Hi Honey. I can't believe you answered! At this hour! I miss you. When will you come up and visit?"

It is too early in the morning for this shit.

"I'm not coming there, Mom."

I answer, my voice flat, emotionless, totally guarded.

"But why?!"

'But why?'

She says shit like that with a serious face.

I can't with her.

"I can't come there mom." Speaking slowly as though speaking to a child, but also with a considerable amount of sarcasm. "I'm pretty sure the restraining order still holds."

"Oh Cecilia." She says in a tone that's unmistakably dismissive, and I can easily imagine the taxed expression on her face, as though my reason is petty nonsense. "Peter will go away for a while, alright? To give us time to catch up. I haven't seen you since you got back out into the real world. You need me. I'm your mother."

Her patronizing isn't lost on me, and it makes me feel quite small, which in turn makes me feel quite angry. There are too many mines in that sentence for me to dance around, acknowledging any one of them in any way would lead to this conversation exploding into an argument of epic proportions and repercussions. So I will choose to ignore it and go on as though she said nothing of particular interest to me.

"Pretty sure it says seven hundred feet from his residence, mom. Not just him."

She sighs very deeply, a breath that I know is heavy with many things; memories of what I did, things I'd said, her guilt and shame, indignation at the shortness of my tone with her. I love her and I always will, but she chose her side. I can't pretend to be fine to make her decision easier.

I've done enough pretending for her sake.

"Well I'll come to see you some time then....And very soon. We love you very much, Cecilia."

I manage to mumble a response into the phone and end the call. My blood always boils at the very thought of Peter, who is the root of all evil in my life. Peter, who is the cause of all my problems - and that's not just me being dramatic because I resent my stepfather. I loathe him.

In the end I told her everything, every bit of what had occurred between he and I, and she not only refused to believe me she took his side. She stood by him in court, let them take me away instead of leaving him, and now she acts as though nothing ever happened and the past two years never occurred. I don't quite know how to blame her, because I know her; her status is her everything and 'my daughter is bat shit crazy' is a much more glamorous story to tell at the country club.

Certainly better than the alternative.

Yawns escape my mouth and my eyelids are heavy, but I could not sleep now even if I tried. The past has made itself present in my mind, and it won't be ignored. I resign myself to facing the day and dig a fresh outfit out of the drawers around my room

There will be no rest for me, no matter how weary I am.


	2. Chapter 2: Cecilia

I make my way down the street, its curb currently piled high with garbage. It's an uncharacteristically warm afternoon for autumn and the bags are attracting flies like so many rotting carcasses would do. That's a foul and morbid analogy but I am in a foul and morbid mood. I roll my eyes for no reason in particular, maybe just at the atmosphere, and climb the steps to our building. Digging my fingers into the pocket of my black knit sweater -or old reliable as I like to call her- my heart drops to my feet.

Instead of stopping around my keys my little fingers find themselves slipping through a gaping hole. I look down, holding the sweater out and open wide and sure enough my fingers wave to me from its lining. The absolutely empty lining of the pocket.

"GOD DAMN IT!"

I holler the curse at the top of my lungs, but again this is New York City: the few people who pass by at that moment could care less. They've seen it all before, they've heard it all before. I fly back down the steps and down the street, hoping I managed to drop them recently and not while I was out and about all over the place.

"Shit, shit, shit! Fuck this fucking shit!" Profanity is my thing when I'm upset. Never used to be but it is now. Go figure. "I can't lose the goddamn key AGAIN. I cannot fucking call Louis over here to jimmy me in! Di will kick my ass this time... I'm such a fucking spaz... how the hell do you keep doing this shit? You're supposed to be a grown woman for fucks sake. Shit!"

I scream and whine and mumble and as I come to the end of my outburst and resign myself to the facts I lean against the wall of the store on the corner: a little girl appears out of nowhere. Her eyes are bright and wide and a playful grin is on her face. She looks stunned and on the verge of hysterical laughter; like a child with a juicy secret to tell a parent about one of the other kids.

Clearly she heard my rant.

I narrow my eyes at her, my thick black eyeliner and deep scowl giving off the intimidating look I hope for as I approach her. She gulps and I know it's working. She's cute; two big and very neat braids on either side of her head, an all pink play outfit on, sparkly running shoes. She's a little lady. I kneel in front of her and she stares blankly at the many holes in my face, their studs and hoops gleaming in the sun.

"Ladies never ever use that kind of language. Got it?"

She nods, a solemn look in her wide open eyes. I fish a dollar out of the pocket of my cargos and hand it to her. Her eyes light up again as she smiles at me as she waves and skips off down the block. I watch her until she runs up a flight of stairs and into a brownstone. Kid probably has more money than I do in the bank, but she was awfully cute and I assaulted her innocent little ears.

I stand up and pull out my phone. There's nothing to be done: its either call Louis and risk getting my sister thrown out of the building, wait outside 'til god knows when she gets off work and comes back home, or crash at David's place.

I'm not excited about my options.

Things with David and I are quite awkward at the moment. I got pretty wasted last weekend and stumbled in drunk while he and Di were up watching a movie, and even though I didn't do anything but go to straight to my room, I can tell he was put off by it. He's too polite to say anything but I can tell I make him uncomfortable. If he wasn't already so crazy about Di I'm sure he'd have dumped her after encountering her sister with the criminal past.

And for my part I have no excuse, but try as I might I can't quite bring myself to like him very much. Spending time alone with him will be unpleasant and weird, but a few awkward moments are better than getting Di evicted or sitting outside in the stench of warm garbage for hours.

He answers my call on the second ring and at the sound of his voice I immediately feel like the biggest loser in the entire world.

"Cecilia?"

"Yeah it's me. I hate to bother you but could I come over there. I'm locked out..."

"Of course."

I realize how presumptuous I must sound, and how odd the request must be, so I try to explain myself a little.

"I wouldn't just ask, but... Di said I could call you if this happens. Actually, that I should do that instead of what I'd usually do...that you wouldn't mind?"

I'm rambling, trying to sound pleasant and friendly but rambling none the less, so I stop myself by covering my face with my palm.

"I know. We've discussed it."

A beat passes as we both seem to hold our tongues. The sentence should have been 'we've discussed you, Cecilia. At length. Because you're a huge disruption to Di's life and our relationship.'. But David has too much tact to say anything, and even I realize that it wouldn't be appropriate or productive to correct him.

"Okay."

-

Like most productive and responsible adults, David is at work, so I hopped the subway up to his apartment. He lives in a trendy neighborhood near the financial district that I pretty much despise. He's a poser: super liberal, politically and socially correct to a fault, into just the right 'indie' music and films. He has about as much depth as a local news anchor and takes himself way too seriously, which would be fine but he's an accountant. But like by choice, it's not just a job he fell into; he decided to become an accountant because of the job security in the field. There's something hilarious and hypocritical about that to me.

Anyway, he seems to be a nice person, just not really an individual, which I attribute to the fact that he's never had a hard life. The 'I don't give a fuck' attitude I have developed is a direct result of the past I've lived through. I like that about myself, but if I could trade it in for a clean slate and just be a poser like David and his yuppie friends, I would.

In a heartbeat.

I take the spare key from the numbered lockbox nailed above his door and open it, carefully putting the key back before going inside. Di had him put the lockbox there just for me, just in case I do shit like this on the regular.

I'm actually not stupid or scatter brained, I graduated from high school 2nd in my class with a 4.0, even though I had to do it through tutors while living at the home. I'll be starting college soon: Pace in January, majoring in 'I have absolutely no idea'. I just don't give a fuck at the moment.

A year or so ago it would have been all I thought or talked about; the future and my plans and dreams for it. But now is different because I'm indifferent. I've become careless. I try not to hurt others, to limit my chaos and only self destruct. But it's hard for people who care about me to watch me spiral into reckless apathy... People like Di.

Which is why I've mellowed out little by little over the past few weeks; I spent the summer raging, but now it's the week before Thanksgiving, the first major family holiday since my release, so I want it to be cool. Di wants that too; she's been perfecting recipes and planning the menu for weeks. 

I swear Martha Stewart is her spirit animal.

I'm not into the idea of lounging all over his sofas, I feel like that would be rude, so I lay on the floor in David's living room and look up at the ceiling. I reach up and turn on the lamp on his side table. I guess I'll stay and cook dinner for him, maybe clean up a little. I don't have anything else to do and idle hands on me are just asking for disaster. Most TV bores me - or more honestly, I don't have the patience to keep up with weekly installments of things - and I love movies, but the ones David has are torture. Watching the ceiling is more entertaining than anything in his DVD collection

The apartment is warm, probably due to the large windows across the living room wall, and so I slide out of my sweater, letting my black racer back tank hit the hardwood floor. I don't shiver at the cold contact of the floorboards against my skin. I never shiver or jump, I'm not ticklish; I don't really respond to being touched. It's a psychosomatic symptom; that much I learned from the shrink in the home. It's just the way my body deals physically with what happened to me in the past.

It's odd to be numb; if I were all alone in the world I might not mind it at all, but it freaks most other people out. They could tap me on the shoulder and I wouldn't respond, but if they were to brush against me unexpectedly I'd tense up and become deeply alarmed. It's not normal, and so I try to keep the extent of just how messed up I am hidden from other people. I mimic what I think are accurate responses to touch and I find ways to cope with the anxiety that social interactions can cause me.

I took up getting piercings as soon as I got out of the home. I thought they'd help me feel something. It didn't work, but I found that I liked the way they looked so I kept going back for more: a Monroe piercing in the skin over my upper lip, my right eyebrow, my left ear from top to bottom, the left side of my lower lip, my nose and my belly button. I want more, so who knows where the next place will be.

I would be worried that I was a psychopath, but I take comfort in the fact that I wasn't always this way. The shrink said opening up about 'the trauma', as she called it, would most likely help me get over it. I decided it wasn't worth the trouble; after all, I'd told my mother everything and that didn't help.

At one point I considered boxing since I was so numb to everything, thinking I could get paid a lot of money to take hits I wouldn't even feel, but a fight with a girl in the home made me quickly remember that I wasn't numb to pain and that I could still feel getting my ass kicked - not that she kicked my ass. (She didn't.)

She was upset because she'd cut her hair off with scissors that morning and mine fell in thick black curls long past my waist. She vented her frustration by taking a lunch tray and bashing me in my face with it. I almost choked on the blood that poured out of my nose. I stabbed her in the neck with a fork and kneed her in the stomach before I totally blacked out. The next thing I remember was them saying I'd earned myself another six months there.

Crazy, I know; but that was what it was like. I've been out and about for almost a year now and the home feels like a distant dream. I'm good at blocking things out, not so good at forgetting. I'm incapable of forgiveness. It's pointless to apologize to me. These are things I'm not so proud of: things I think I could stand to change.

As I sweep the floor of David's living room I frown at the dust that has collected. He doesn't clean; it's an argument I've overheard him and Di have a few times. He says that he doesn't really make a mess so he doesn't think the place is dirty but really it's like dude, there's dirt in the atmosphere settling all around you! He's oblivious. He could care less. He says it's just another thing she tries to control, spouting psychobabble and making it somehow more annoying than when the shrink at the home used to do it.

At least she had a degree.

I finish the floor, dust the living room and head to the kitchen. All he has to clean with is bleach, but I don't mind. I love the smell of bleach and anything chemical really: cleaning supplies, paint, rubbing alcohol. It all smells clean and new, and I like things clean and new; like second chances. I'm scrubbing the counter when my phone goes off. I grab it and slide to answer the call.

"Yeah."

I ask, smiling a little as she replies. Kick has been my best friend for a very long time and she stuck by me through all my trials. Literally. I love her, she adores me. We work.

"Boo, where you been all day?"

"Out and about. My stupid ass lost the fucking keys."

"Again?"

"A fucking gain."

"Wow, Ce, we have to like hang them off of your lip ring or something."

"Hardy har har, bitch." I say with a playful smile that I'm glad she can't see. "What the hell did you call me for?"

"You will never guess who's here to open a tattoo parlor in the city."

My heart falls to the floor for the second time today. I don't need to guess who's coming to open a tattoo shop in the city. I only know one person who wanted to do that, and one person who could afford to do it at nineteen.

But that doesn't make the news any less of a shock.

"No fucking way."

"YES!" I can hear the smile in her voice, the one she wears when she's hype and excited and not trying to contain herself. "And stop with all the foul language."

Her admonishment is lost on me; I have too many questions on my mind.

"How do you know? Did you see him?"

I ask, climbing up onto the now dry counter and sitting, biting my nails but I don't listen to her answer.

I spoke to him the last time before all of it happened, before his family had to move back to England for his father's work. He was there when it all happened, that was the last time that I saw him - as I was covered in soot in my once white pajamas, my hands cuffed behind my back, being led to a police car.

Not exactly the way I wanted my first love to remember me.

I remember him quite differently. He was completely himself, not just an individual but a complex one; he was beautiful and confident, but modest. He was quiet most of the time, but insanely charming and very popular. He had a lot to live up to at home but he never took it out on others. He had more money than anyone else we knew but he wasn't stuck up. He was sweet but nobody could mess with him. He was smart and respectful, but he also snuck out late at night to get and give tattoos. And he could have had any girl around that he wanted, but he was crazy about me.

\- TWO YEARS AGO -

"So Cilly, what are you going to do when I'm gone?"

"Well...I might actually cry."

She said, pulling the weeds next to the blanket out of the ground and throwing them off into the distance. They had no right to be there, ruining the perfect atmosphere. His head was in her lap, as usual, but instead of gently stroking his hair as she normally would have, she played with the grass as his beautiful eyes stared at the clouds rolling by.

"I'll cry too, then."

She smiled to herself.

"No you won't. You won't even miss me."

"I'll miss you every second I'm away. I love you."

Her heart swelled as he said it, every time he said it felt like the first time she'd heard it; thrilling and confusing. She beamed down at him and lowered her lips to his. The intimacy of the gesture was hard for her, he understood that and never pushed for anything more. She pulled away too quickly for him and he bit his lower lip, wishing for the millionth time that he could take away the pain that always made her get so uncomfortable.

"Did you bother to do your homework?"

She changed the subject, which was typical. She never said she loved him back. He understood that too, for she was as uncomfortable with the words as she was with the actions, but he knew by the way she treated him that she felt the same.

"Sure I did."

"You are so lame."

"I am not. I have grades to maintain while I'm still here, I can't just stop working."

She rolled her eyes, getting a vague sense that she was being mocked.

"It's your last week; I would."

"You would not. You get better grades than everyone else."

"Almost everyone else."

"Kick doesn't count, she's a robot."

She nodded her agreement. He sat up and looked into her eyes: dark brown, bright in spite of every horror they'd seen and so big you could see everything around reflected in them. He'd know those eyes anywhere, forever. He loved everything about the girl more and more each day; not being able to touch her and hold her the way he wanted to so desperately was excruciating, but more than worth it, as long as he could see her face, touch her hair, get lost in her eyes and hear that soft sweet voice. That was enough.

"Don't stare."

She looked down quickly and tried to turn away, to obscure his view and avoid his intense eyes. His hand pressed softly against her cheek and she stopped.

"Come with us, Cilly. My dad won't mind, my mum won't care. We'll take care of you. I know we can seem intense from the outside but it won't be that way with you. You'd be our guest, we'd treat you like a princess. Hell they wouldnt even be around most of the time. We could get lost in London and you'd be safe. Please come with me. Please."

His forehead touched hers, she wished her eyes would water because her heart felt heavy; she knew she should be crying. A normal girl would be crying.

She couldn't even consider it, as much as she wanted to. She couldn't go and leave Diane; she couldn't risk Diane having to take her place.

"Harry I can't. My mother would never allow it."

"My dad could talk her into it."

"We're only 17."

"We graduate in a few months, you'll be eighteen, we'll be living with my parents...you could do it, Cilly, you could get out and never have to come back. Do it for me."

"For you?"

She was confused, once again not understanding how or why her situation impacted him so much.

"I can't go knowing you're here and knowing about...him."

His fists balled and his jaw clenched; his illegally tattooed arm flexed. She touched his shoulder gently.

"Thank you so much, but I can't." She knew for a fact the aching in her chest should be producing tears from her eyes, she was sure expelling tears would make it hurt less. Without them the pain simply settled there upon her chest, heavy like an anchor. "I wish I could. But I can't."

"Then we have to tell someone."

He spoke with resolve, knowing she would shoot him down but feeling like he couldn't let her; not this time.

"It won't make a difference Harry. If I tell they'll take me away to live with strangers and my sister..."

He sighed, realizing her real reason for not wanting to go. He resented it; it felt like an excuse and a lame one at that.

"She's away at college!"

"He can change that in a heartbeat, and he would." She went one at the sight of his eye roll, desperate to make him understand that she wasn't rejecting him: she never would. "What he does to me is terrible Haz, but I can handle it. My sister is different. Di would...well she'd die."

"Oh you can handle it?"

"Stop."

He grabbed her wrists and turned them veins up, showing the welt like scars there. She frowned at him and made a pointless attempt to pull herself out of his reach.

"I didn't really try."

"This is not handling it." He said, his voice didn't raise, but urgency was there. "How can I leave you here alone?"

"I have Di, and Kick."

"They don't know."

"But they love me."

"So do I..." His eyes flashed at the deep hurt he felt. "You know I do."

"I know. And I...I...I mean, I "

She tried to say it but the words stuck in her throat, threatening to choke her rather than come out. He held her chin, lifting her head so her eyes could meet his, and pressed his lips softly against hers. She wanted to do more than sit and wait for him to pull away. She wanted to feel what her friends talked about. She wanted her stomach to flutter and her heart to beat fast. She wanted her body temperature to rise and her hormones to kick in. He pulled away and smiled at her, grateful she tried and knowing exactly what she meant to say. He saw her embarrassed blush and the way she bit her lip.

"I know too...we should make it easier on you. Let's say Olive juice."

"Olive juice?"

"Yeah,' he spoke as though it made all the sense in the world, and she listened. "Since your brain's a little haywire, we'll trick it. Olive juice, Cilly."

She smirked, doubting that it would work, but she shrugged - thinking it couldn't hurt to try - and spoke.

"Olive juice too, Haz." She grinned at him. "It works!"

Her smile was radiant, happiness personified, and it delighted him to see it.

"See! Now try it this way, I'll say: I love you. And you say..."

"Olive juice too, Harry!"

His perfect smile, his dimples, his eyes gleaming in the sun. She took a moment to take it in and hoped she could remember the moment later. As they walked hand in hand back towards his house he assured her once more:

"You can change your mind whenever you want. It won't be too late to come; ever. I'll never be too far away. Just say the word."

She squeezed his hand gently and brought it to her lips, his stomach leapt in excitement. She beamed at him, her eyes wide and playful; she was surprised at herself.

"Thank you."

*Now*

"So he's here, and of course he asked about you." I had'nt heard what she was saying over the memory playing back in my mind. That was only a couple of years ago, sitting on a blanket in Harry's back yard; no piercings, no criminal record. "Ce, are you even listening to me!"

"Yeah, I heard you. So what did you tell him?"

I try to sound detached and disinterested; I seriously doubt that I manage to pull it off.

"That you got about as many piercings as he got tattoos, but you're still pretty much the same otherwise."

I laugh really loudly into the phone and speak in between gasps for air.

"So you lied through your fucking teeth, then?"

She giggles, but I keep laughing. I'm nothing like my old self, and I won't ever be again; the idea is literally laughable.

"Language, Ce! And it's true to me, you're still my Boo, you just curse a lot now...and you drink too much, and party too hard but even that's not true lately."

As I listen to her I pull at my cuticles and peel away the skin on my fingers; a horrible habit I know, but I'll do almost anything to hurt myself.

"It's true enough. Where's the shop?"

"On this little street off Times Square. His dad is letting him give it a go."

"I wonder what the catch is."

I say to myself. She doesn't seem to have heard me.

"He's still cute. He got taller, and he has muscles now. He dresses differently, no more t-shirts and hoodies and khaki pants. He looks like a rockstar, or a pirate, but in way tighter jeans and not as much makeup. No vests either, and nothing weird in his teeth or ha-"

"I get it Kick, don't hurt yourself." Her gushing about such trivial things would have gotten on my nerves anyway, but the fact that she's gushing about Harry really annoys me. "So he still looks pretty good huh?"

"He looks even better than he did before." I ignore the tone in her voice. My mind wanders to the fact that Harry promised to call me, write me, be with me, but I haven't heard a word from him since he left. I know he loved me then, but when he saw me getting arrested, the house behind me smoldering in the early morning sun, maybe he changed his mind. "He said to ask you to stop by. He wants to talk to you...see you."

I frown and continue mutilating my finger with my teeth; little droplets of blood appear so I suck them away. I decide I'm pissed at Harry, the judgmental little bastard. He knew what I went through, he was the only one I told before that night, and when I needed him to understand he disappeared, off to live his life of luxury on Daddy's dime, happy to have anything he wanted as long as he kept to Daddy's expectations which I'm sure didn't include the abused girl in state custody.

I scowled at the floor as I spoke.

"Fuck him."

Kick gasps. I smile at her indignation.

"But you were in love. Real love!"

"I can't with you, Kick. Grow up." I try to be flippant again, even with my heart breaking at the fact that she remembers how he and I had been together. "I have to go. Bye."

David's key in the door was nearly silent but I heard it loud and clear; another side effect.

"Cecilia! It's just me, David."

I hop off the counter and dance around a little on my feet, trying to look normal: casual and calm; I'm sure Di has told him enough to make him fear walking up on me unannounced. I force a pleasant tone and speak.

"I'm in here. In the kitchen."

He enters with a smile. He runs a hand over his mousy brown hair, cut into the trendiest style of the moment. I suddenly feel very exposed and wish I had a ponytail holder and my cardigan still on.

Even with his head down I can see his eyes rake over my body; my shirt's material is thin, not quite see through but it leaves too little to the imagination for my liking. My hair is loose and falling in wild curls all over the place. I know what I look like, and I've been hit on enough to know that I can affect people in ways that I don't always mean or want to. I would prefer that David not fall victim to my accidental wiles. I cross my arms over my body and focus on the floor.

"I cleaned the place a little. Not that it was dirty or anything but the dust was built up like a motherfu-" I catch myself before I say the whole word, nearly choking as I do. "Madman...so I thought it was the least I could do. It was cool of you to let me stay here today...I can go to my friend Kick's house now if you want the place to yourself."

I pull my eyes up to his face, nervously biting my lower lip ring. His eyes were on my body, I shift on my feet: the look he just gave me is unsettling.

"You're fine. I don't need the place to myself."

I could be imagining it, I probably am, but even so I have to leave. I shoot Kick a text to see if she's cool with me coming over, then tell David I'm gone and thank him again before grabbing my sweater and bolting out of the door.


	3. Chapter 3: Cecilia

Kick has a two bedroom place all to herself and her cat. Her parents pay her rent and do so happily so she can excel at NYU without living in their 'overly debauched' campus dorms. Because a girl with her own apartment in the city can't find debauchery; thats some logic, I guess.

In reality she lives like Carrie Bradshaw; one man after another searching for Mr. Right. I guess I'd be doing the same thing if I wasn't so damaged. I can't exactly imagine it as I lay on the bed in her second bedroom and relax for the first time today. I finally feel free enough to let my fatigue overtake me and before I know it I'm asleep. 

Whispers in the living room wake me up. I sit up straight and squint my eyes in the now dark room.

"I know, I had no idea she'd be here, but I think she had a rough day. I know but, she's exhausted so I have to let her sleep." She sounds apologetic and slightly annoyed. "I'll just see you tomorrow, okay? I don't know when but tomorrow at some point. Yes I promise! I said I promise! Okay...bye."

The last thing I want to do is cost kick a booty call; whoever was on the phone seemed pretty keen to see her. Far be it from me to stand in the way of true lust. 

"Francesca My Love!" I yell into the dark as her feet shuffle past the bedroom door. She stops and opens it, switching on the light with a smile on her face. "Call him back and tell him to come."

Her mouth drops open, the color falls out of her face. 

I expected her to laugh.

I sit up and stare at her, concerned by her reaction. She's a little too surprised that I heard.

"I...I..."

"What's wrong?"

She takes a deep breath and recovers from her moment of shock. Her nervous and totally forced laugh sets alarm bells ringing in my mind. 

Kick is about to lie to me.

"Nothing! I just can't believe you heard that! I was like two rooms away and speaking really quietly."

"No; you were whispering actually." I say with a frown. I don't like the deception; I don't like doubting someone I trust. "Call him back. Tell him to come...I don't care if you get off while I'm here, but I'm leaving any way."

I grab my shoes as I sit at the foot of the bed and pull them on. 

"Why? Don't go! You came in and went straight to bed; we didn't have a chance to talk or anything!" As I walk to the door and out into the hall she follows and begs me the whole way. Her words fall on deaf ears; I need to leave and quiet my suspicions."You must be hungry, I cooked spaghetti. Come on Ce. Please."

It's such a simple word, but it makes me stop and rethink leaving. 

Maybe I'm overreacting...maybe I'm just a softy because her 'please' pulls at my heart and weakens my resolve to go.

"You'd rather eat spaghetti with me than have a good fuck?"

I raise my eyebrows at her, genuinely concerned for her sanity if that's is the case. She blushes at my language, but smiles sweetly.

"CeCe of course I want you to stay. I miss you."

I lower my eyes from her face; I can't shake the feeling of uneasiness at her reaction to the fact that I heard her conversation. But that could just be her trying to protect me: she's been dating this kid named Zayn off and on for a while and she thinks that I don't like him but I do; he's sweet and artistic. He's also quiet and slightly intimidating, like me; I can tell he has a past too. 

Kick is obviously crazy about him -although she won't admit it- and I can understand why she might not want me here. It's not impossible to think that I could scare him off. So I decide to be reasonable, to ignore my suspicions, since now I feel like I overreacted and was on the verge of jumping to the wrong conclusion. 

I might as well calm down and have a nice meal with my bestie, instead of going home to dwell on imaginary betrayals 

-

The weather took a turn at some point; the sky is gray and the apartment cold when I wake the next morning. Kick is heavily asleep on the couch across from me and snoring softly, as I notice that the DVD player and TV are still on; we fell asleep watching Crazy Stupid Love. Kick will take any excuse to drool over Ryan Gosling. I smirk and cross the room to turn both off, then make my way into the bathroom.

As I wash my face and grab a spare tooth brush from her linen closet I think of how casual Kick is about sex. I wish I could be that way. 

I stare in the mirror as I dry my face. I try to avoid looking directly at myself most of the time lately, but every once in a while I'll examine my looks. Now I look natural and well rested, my eyes aren't bloodshot or puffy, my face isn't swollen, my lips are full and wet; they don't look dried out and peeling. I look sober but also happy. I look normal...or as normal as possible with all these holes in my face. For the first time in a long time I can smile at what I see reflected back at me.

I feel good today and I wonder why for a moment.

Then I remember the news of the day before and I don't have to wonder any more.

Harry is the reason and I know it good and damn well.

I can at least admit it to myself, here alone in the bathroom.

I missed him.

My eyes widen and my heart leaps in my chest; I couldn't deny the truth if I tried. I want to - desperately - but the truth is literally written on my face. Just the vague mention of him has raised my spirits. 

I shouldn't blame him for disappearing; I almost killed someone and 

I cringe at just the thought of it. But I know Harry wasn't afraid of me that night...He couldn't have been; not after the way we started.

*three years ago*

They all sat at a round table in the middle of the cafeteria, on full display to everyone else in the room. As they laughed and talked and played together over half eaten lunches the rest of the students were captivated by them: girls who hated them, girls who worshipped them, boys who loved them, boys who wanted to corrupt them. Everyone wanting to be near them whether they could bring themselves to admit it or not. And the most beautiful one by a long shot was in the center of the group, quietly eating her yogurt and listening to her friends ramble on about a homecoming dress in a magazine. 

He watched along with the others as she went to push her incredibly long black hair out of her face, and let it rest gently behind her ear. She didn't wear tons of makeup like the other girls, she had beautiful eyes and big full lips; deep pink, lips he wanted to kiss and suck on and turn bright red and make swell up. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. 

He was smitten; his mind and heart were gone, instantly taken with the girl he had yet to know.

"Who's that Liam?"

He eagerly asked the boy who'd been kind enough to show him around on his first day. He made no qualms about pointing directly to who he meant. Liam smiled and shook his head, chuckling though he was not at all surprised.

"Oh that's Cecilia. She's pretty cool actually and she's nice to everyone, not like some of her friends..." Liam's voice trailed off as he noticed Harry's fascinated gaze at the girl, and Harry hardly noticed or heard a word Liam said after the name 'Cecilia'. "We all hang out around the founders statue in the courtyard usually, but it's way too nasty outside for that today."

Harry nodded his head and bit his bottom lip, feeling dazed; she was smiling now, looking down at the book and pointing out a dress in it. His heart sunk.

"She has a boyfriend."

He reasoned as a slight blush flushed her cheeks and she looked slightly enchanted by the dresses in the book.

"Oh no....CeCe doesn't date. Anyone. Ever. She's really shy about that sort of thing. It's like she doesn't know how hot she is or something."

Harry fought down the jealousy that boiled in his stomach; hearing those words should have made him feel better, but hearing her be referred to as 'hot' immediately raised a small amount of his ire . He knew he had no right and the statement was true; but his indignation wouldn't know reason: Cecilia was hot but she was also so much more than that.

"She's indescribably beautiful."

He breathed as he watched her blush and smile to herself and push the book away, shaking her head as her friends teased her about something. He wanted to walk over to the table and introduce himself and so he decided: he would

"Harry! Where are you going?"

He turned around and flashed Liam a confident smile, beckoning for him to follow. As Liam hurried over to the table, Harry stood directly in front of Cecilia, smiling down at her like an idiot. All the girls around the table exchanged playful and knowing glances, all secretly wishing he'd turn those brilliant green eyes their way as well. Cecilia looked up with a painfully shy expression on her face. She blushed, the way he stared at her was amusing. His smile was adorable. 

"Hi."

He managed to speak, her blush deepened. 

"Hi!"

Exclaimed all the girls at the table before they dissolved into giggles. Cecilia laughed too, although she hadn't spoken yet. He longed to hear her voice. He had to know if it was as perfect and angelic as her face. 

"Hello."

She said once it was quiet again. She had the most feminine sounding voice he'd ever heard; his smile deepened, it changed: it shifted into a dopey grin that somehow made him look even more confident, although also slightly absurd. 

"Oooooooooh"

Said the other girls at the table in unison. Cecilia looked down at the table and placed a hand over her face. She was completely embarrassed and nothing had happened. The bell rung and she was the first one away from the table, speed walking away from her friends, away from Harry, as fast as she could without running.

"I'll meet you in class okay?" Harry called to Liam as he sped off after her. "Cecilia!"

He called, catching her waiting in a mass of people trying to get up a flight of stairs. She clutched her books to her chest and hung her head a little. Harry lowered his and saw the shy smile playing at her lips. 

"Hi, again." She said, quietly. He was immediately certain that he had thought of the right word for her before; she was angelic. "I'm Cecilia by the way."

She held out an awkward hand and blushed. He'd just called her name from across the hall; he knew it all ready.

"I'm Harry...Styles. Harry Styles? Yeah. I just moved here two weeks ago from England."

He said, hoping he sounded cool and European and not like some obnoxious spoiled brat. He always worried about sounding spoiled.

"Oh England! You must be so bored here!"

"Not really, this place is a lot like Cheshire, small and suburban...but it's closer to the city than Cheshire is."

"Oh. I just assumed you were from London."

"Really?" He smiled at her as they began to climb the stairs. "Why?"

"Uh, well you dress so well and you speak so properly....I suppose that's why. I didn't think you were from the country. You're so...cool."

She gulped as she finished speaking and focused even harder on the stairs before her. Harry's heart raced in his chest. She'd noticed his outfit and the way he spoke; and she thought he was cool.

"Thanks." He again breathed out the word, the admiration he felt for her evident in his tone. It was lost on Cecilia though. "You look great today. You look really nice. I love that skirt. It's like, beautiful and stuff."

"Oh. Thank you."

She mumbled with an embarrassed laugh. Harry cursed himself for being so incredibly lame; he was usually great at flirting, this fumbling for words and wondering if she liked him too was quite bizarre. She turned down a hallway, Harry right at her side. 

As they rounded the corner a kid three times her size bumped into her and sent her into Harry's open arms.

"Watch Where You're Going You Wanker!"

Harry yelled after helping Cecilia stand on her own again. The enormous bully turned around and stalked over to Harry. Cecilia tugged gently at his shirt sleeve, urging him to move, but Harry, tall and skinny, clenched his jaw and looked the bully right in his eyes.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me. You need to watch where the hell you're going! You almost knocked her down." 

Cecilia stood behind him, silently pleading with him to walk away and come with her. Harry balled his fists and cracked his knuckles, not seeming to grasp the direness of the situation at all. 

"You must be new here."

"Yeah; but I've seen you before. There's one of you at every school."

"Harry..."she said in her kind and soft voice. "Craig, don't worry about it...I'm alright."

"I don't give a shit if you're alright, bitch, did I ask you if you were -"

Harry's fists connected with his jaw and then his nose in two lightning fast jabs before he had a chance to finish his sentence. Cecilia gasped and her hands flew to cover her open mouth as a stooped Craig looked up at Harry, his jaw already beginning to swell, blood trickling steadily out of his nose. His eyes were watering. 

"Go. Now, before I give you what you deserve."

He said, Cecilia looked at him with her eyes squinted and her brow furrowed in alarm and bewilderment. He seemed so calm, hardly excited at all, but then he'd never seen Craig pummel a kid before. Her surprise deepened even further as Craig staggered off down the hall. She looked at Harry's still clenched fists and could tell his knuckles would swell soon. 

"Are you okay?" She asked, standing in front of him and touching his hands gently with her fingertips. "You're shaking."

"I'm fine." He answered, the rage in him subsided a little at her touch. How could anyone talk to a girl this sweet and shy like that? "What about you?"

"Oh...that was nothing to me, Harry. I was fine. I've been pushed around plenty of times. It's okay."

"No it's not!"

He snapped and a disgusted look was upon his face as he looked into her eyes . Cecilia stopped talking and looked down.

"Okay...well we better get to class before we're late." 

As she started to walk away, Harry's hand caught her arm. She tensed up immediately; he immediately let go.

"Oh I'm sorry! Don't be afraid of me, I would never hurt you! I'm not usually like that, I just can't stand bullies, and of course he was so rude to you..."

She adjusted her shoulders and nodded. 

"I understand. Thank you for standing up for me." As she looked down this time there was water welling up in the corners of her eyes. "I think I forgot something in my locker. Do you need help finding your next class?"

"No...I think I can manage."

"Okay. Thank you, Harry. Bye." 

Her voice cracked a little and she hurried off down the hall, her beautiful hair bouncing against her shoulders as she went. Harry scowled as he watched her rush away from him.

"Nice going, Killer."

He mumbled, turning around a few times before realizing he had absolutely no idea where to go next.


	4. Chapter 4: Cecilia

*now*

"It's only a block away from the theater, CeCe, we could just drop in and say 'hi', there's no harm in that!"

I shake my head vigorously. 

No.

"I don't want to see him."

Truth. 

"Why not?"

This is my best friend, the one person besides me who knows everything my life has been since Harry left. If that doesn't make her understand why I don't want to see him, I'm not sure how I can ever make her understand.

"Kick, I just don't fucking want to see him...I don't want him to see me like this."

I gesture to my face and my clothes. I don't give a shit what people think of my piercings or my style of dress; I like it so fuck them. But Harry used to call me all sorts of sweet nicknames and make me feel like a proper little princess because I was a proper little princess back then. I can't let him see how far away from that I've gotten. I also can't explain all of that to Kick. But she knows me well enough that I don't have to.

"Oh, CeCe." She reaches out to touch my arm, I pull away. "You're still beautiful. You're still the same."

"Stop saying that! It's a lie and we both know it. Just stop talking about it because I can't with this shit...I just fucking cannot. I'm not fucking able to deal with this shit at all. Please."

I run my tongue over my lip ring and slowly tug at it with my teeth. My eyes are glued to the ground but I can feel Kick staring at me. My insides feel warm with embarrassment and I bite at my nails again. 

"Okay. I'll drop it."

"Thank you." 

I mutter as we start to walk again. I shove my hands into the pockets of my boyfriend jeans and wish to God that I could just be normal for five minutes....or at least drunk, if I were drunk I'd be on my way to that tattoo parlor right now. 

Kick leaves right after the movie and a long long hug and a bunch of kisses on my forehead. She's something between my sister and my grandmother with all that shit. I pull away, irritated by the affection, neither the awkwardness or the love lost on me. She hurries off to a late afternoon class, I decide to stroll around Times Square. 

My phone goes off as I stand on the sidewalk. I lean against a lamppost and try to avoid errant tourists as I read the text: 

Di: Mom wants to know about thanksgiving. Just giving you a heads up. I won't say yes or no until we talk tonight. Love you.

I read it over and over again. It's like the universe wants me to go slice my arm a few times and drown my sorrows in vodka, with all the crap it keeps dumping on me...but I'm stronger than that. I'm stronger than the universe, right? Or am I just batshit crazy like for reals?

I don't get a chance to figure it out. One of those deranged lunatics on a bike comes flying down the street in a neon blur. The last thing I remember is the force of the bike against my body, winding me and leaving my mind blank.

"It was an accident man!"

"You could have killed her!"

"Come on man; that's my bike!"

"Get the fuck out of here before I murder you." My eyes open slowly, I hear myself groan; the pain is terrible. A figure stoops to my side, everything is blurry, all I see are shapes colors and skewed outlines. "Oh My Days! Cilly. Cilly, Baby can you hear me?"

"What the fuck, Haz?"

My voice is slow and groggy, I'm mumbling more than speaking. I'm hallucinating, I have to be, but at the moment I could care less. As I let my mind go black again, I'm grateful to the stranger I've somehow transformed into my high school sweetheart, for letting me hold his hand. I hope someone calls an ambulance. I hear that deep English accent faintly, even though I'm basically unconscious. 

"Move along! Move, NOW! Bloody hell, there's nothing to see here! Go...GO! Shows over, you lot ought to go find lives!"

Being lifted onto the stretcher jolts me awake again. Everything hurts, it even hurts to lift my eyelids.

"Be careful! She's sensitive!"

A voice yells at the EMTs. It's a familiar voice. It's the voice, but it can't be. No fucking way. CI lift my head, which is agony, and look down at my hand. His fingers are linked between mine, I see my hand is clutching his. I let my eyes wander up the arm, I let them rake over that face, that face that has changed so much but not really, those incredible eyes that haven't changed at all. That damned beanie covering up his beautiful hair. I feel like passing out again. He's staring at me. He's worried.

He's real.

"Haz?"

I sound weak and terrified.

"Shhh, Cilly, you're going to be fine."

"Don't leave me." I say as they lift my stretcher up into the ambulance, the grip on our hands slips. "No."

I whine, to my relief Harry climbs into the back of the ambulance with me. 

"You're fine. I promise. Don't be afraid."

He takes my hand again and looks me straight in the eyes, I nod my head and bring his hand to my lips, kissing it gently before I feel myself slipping away again.

"I missed you."

They don't bother to take me into a room, this is a city hospital and I'm not mortally wounded; I'll be waiting in the ER until someone can get around to me. I sit in the uncomfortable chair, holding the courtesy ice pack to my head. It's throbbing, my arm is leaking, my stomach feels tight and aches like hell, but at least I don't feel like fainting anymore. Harry's hand still clutches mine as he sits in the chair next to me, looking worried at the gash in my forehead and the blood trickling down my arm.

"This is ridiculous, I'm going to speak to someone."

I squeeze his hand to stop him, he immediately sits back.

"They're doing the best they can."

"I bet you wouldn't be saying that if it were me sitting there, hurt and bleeding." He's right; I'd be raising hell at the receptionist's desk. I smile a little and lean back, resting my head on the back of the chair and closing my eyes. "You can't sleep until they run tests, Cilly."

I open my eyes and sit up straight. It has to be a concussion keeping me this calm, like having Harry here is normal and natural. Why does it feel that way despite the fact that I haven't seen him in years? Despite the fact that I'm supposed to be pissed off at him for something even though I can't remember what it is now? Fuck head injuries and fuck bike messengers.

"Ow," I say as I lean on my elbow and feel the sharp pain of the open wound there. My shirt sleeve is heavy and red drops of blood drip out of it. "What the hell?"

I try to examine it, Harry gets up before I can stop him. He leans over the desk, his back is to me and I can't see his lips moving. He gestures to a plaque on the wall of the emergency room, the middle aged woman with the sandy blonde bowl haircut looks up at him from behind the desk, her eyes skeptical. Harry reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out his wallet. My eyes linger on his skinny butt and those jeans, those impossibly tight jeans. Are they even jeans,? They look like leggings. He looks really good in them too, those long legs, like spider legs except there's only two. He did get taller, and he has broader shoulders, and I think there might be muscles under his clothes. The thought of whats under his clothes makes me bite my bottom lip, I taste blood but I could care less. I just had a dirty thought like a normal person, maybe that bike knocked something loose in my brain, if so I'm not sure they should fix it. 

"They're coming," he says, taking my arm gingerly as he sits down. I notice bandages and tape in his other hand. He rolls the sleeve of my shirt up past my elbow and my blood drips on him. He doesn't seem to notice as he takes a bandage and gently tries to clean the blood from the wound. "Does it hurt very badly?" 

He asks as he tapes a clean bandage over my wound. I shake my head no; the pain is excruciating but I don't see the point in telling him that. I'm stunned as his lips meet mine, quickly and gently. I feel the pain in my busted lip, but also a flutter in my stomach. I know I'm supposed to be pissed at him, but God knows I can't remember why. I want to kiss him every second I can while I'm probably concussed and not in my right mind; while I can feel it. His forehead touches mine and I close my eyes. I breathe out words I had absolutely no thought of saying before. 

"I loved you so much."

I'm in bad shape; I don't even have the decency to be embarrassed by my admission or excited by the fact that I said the words without hesitation. Harry is surprised enough for both of us, and he leans back in the chair, his eyes wide and a playful smile on his face. 

"I know you did."

"I never told you...I'm sorry. I should have, I just couldn't say it before, now it's too late and I'm too different but I loved you. You should know. I loved you more than anything else. You were it for me."

God I hope they come soon and save me from myself. Feelings are exploding like grenades all around me, only I wish they were grenades so I could hurl myself on one to stop the incoherent rambling. I tug on the ring in my lower lip. He kissed me in spite of it; he must not mind. 

"Cilly, I love you too."

I tense up; I'm almost relieved, that's the feeling I know, this is what I'm used to.

"I said loved." 

I say quietly, turning around in my seat and away from him as a team of doctors approach. I don't turn fast enough to miss that he looks embarrassed, But I pretend that I don't notice as I'm preoccupied by watching the doctors as they circle around me. One of them gestures to a wheelchair pushed by a handsome smiling orderly.

"Alright Mrs. Styles, lets get you into a room upstairs and check you out. Mr. Styles you're more than welcome to come along."

I blink a few times as they help me stand and sit in the wheelchair. Everyone ignores my quiet protests and attempts to correct their mistake.

Mrs. Styles? What the hell? 

I look up at Harry who immediately takes my hand into his and rubs his thumb cross mine, it comforts me immediately.

"Just go with it, Mrs Styles. You'll be fine."


	5. Chapter 5: Cecilia

*three years ago.*

He leaned against the wall outside the English classroom; the bathroom pass from his chemistry teacher hanging from his wrist, the essay with the glaring red F clutched in his hand. Even with his eyes closed it swam before him, floating in the darkness, shifting colors, taunting him. His fathers voice edged into his mind.

"I've given you my name, and with that comes a certain expectation; if you can't live up to it, give it back."

He shut his eyes even more tightly and sighed. His heart leapt at the sound of the bell, he knew he'd be in for it at his next chemistry class, and probably never allowed to leave to use the bathroom again, but he also knew if he didn't catch Mr. Rhodes now he'd be gone for the day.

This F situation had to be cleared up before he went home. 

The classroom door opened and so did Harry's eyes. He stood up straight and let the other students file past him, only halfheartedly responding to the blushing giggling girls who said hello and the guys who slapped his hand on the way out. His attention was focused on the teacher as he pushed his way into the class and made his way to the desk in the back. 

She turned around and the beauty of her face hit him like a ton of bricks. There was a light purple bruise on her cheek and an embarrassed look on her features, she quickly turned back to the teacher and spoke quietly. Harry strained to hear.

"It's really nothing, Mr. Rhodes, I'm just clumsy that's all. I could have avoided it if I just would have used the ladder."

"Cecilia," the teacher stated with a sigh of defeat. "I'm here if you need me."

He reached across the desk to touch her hand, Harry noticed her flinch. He stepped forward and spoke up.

"Mr. Rhodes; I need to talk to you."

She took the momentary distraction to pull her hand away, grabbed her things and hurried out of the room after mumbling 'thank you' to the teacher. Harry turned to watch her go; the navy blue jumper dress she wore matched the cardigan she wore over it perfectly, and the knee high socks she wore were sexy. She looked like she had on a uniform, even though the school didn't have a uniform. He stared after her for a moment. 

"Mr. Styles!" Called the teacher from his desk. Harry jumped, turned around and shook his head, remembering himself. "Don't you have a class to get to?"

"Yeah, but I need to speak with you about this F....I can't take this F home, Mr. Rhodes, at least not without a chance to make it right."

"You had a chance, Harry."

"Well, I guess I need one more..." He puffed out his chest and tried to look commanding, the way his father did when talking business. "I'm asking for one more, a make up or something?"

"That grade is final, that assignment is done. It's still early in the semester. Apply yourself to this, instead of that," he pointed to the elaborate doodle drawn in pen on Harry's hand, "and you can still get an A in this class."

He closed the door to Mr. Rhodes' class and kicked it before walking down the hall running his hand through his hair and jamming his now balled up essay into his pocket. There was no use tearing it up or hiding it, his dad would find out. 

He always did.

His eyes lifted slowly from the shiny white linoleum floor, and he saw her stand by her locker; fiddling with her combination lock, shaking her head. He stopped in his tracks, unnoticed by her. 

He was desperate, but was he that desperate? Everyone knew how smart she was; she was featured in the school newspaper every week, her picture hung up in the main hall for her scholarly accomplishments. She was a genius; he didn't want her to think he was stupid.

"Hi Harry. Are you lost?"

She spoke kindly, he blushed, he was just standing in the middle of the hall, looking at her, but hadn't noticed she had turned and seen him.

"No."

He spoke quietly. Cecilia shrugged and walked past him.

"Well you should get going then, the bell rung ten minutes ago. We're late."

"Um Cil- I mean Cecilia, could I talk to you for a second?"

She turned around and smiled at him, her eyes wide as she waited for him to continue. He shuffled his feet and shifted his book bag from shoulder to shoulder with a pained expression on his face. He was nervous.

"What is it, Harry?"

The concern in her voice made him relax a bit; Liam was right, she was nicer than most girls, especially the pretty popular ones. She had no airs, she played no games, and he wasn't sure if that made things easier or not. He sighed and hung his head. 

"Well, I'm failing English, and it's really a problem because I just got here and my Dad is going to flip a bloody donkey if I don't pass..."

"Oh no, I'm sorry to hear that."

"Good, because I need your help."

"Sure! What can I do?"

"Well...I need your help, Cil- I mean, Cecilia."

He bit his lip and turned his head away in embarrassment. Cecilia smiled a wide and genuine smile.

"What were you about to call me?"

She asked, her voice curious and playful. Harry blushed. 

"Well, I started to call you, uh, Cilly..."

His voice trailed off; she looked amused. 

"Silly?"

"Yeah you know, Cilly, like a nickname for CeCILia."

"Oh, Cilly! Well a few people call me CeCe, but mostly everyone just calls me Cecilia...no one has ever called me 'Cilly' in my whole life."

"Oh."

He looked deeply embarrassed for a moment until he noticed the smile on her face. 

"I like it."

He grinned. She smiled.

"It's just what I call you when I think about you-"

Her eyes widened as his hand flew to his face. She tried desperately not to laugh. Harry was sweet and she knew he didn't mean it the way it sounded. 

"So, I guess I could tutor you..."

"Okay."

He was quick to accept the offer, not only because he needed the help but also because he was desperate to change the subject of conversation. 

"I'll meet you at the library after school?"

"Perfect."

"Miss Braddock, Mr. Styles, get to class right now!"

They both jumped at the sudden sound of the stern and forceful voice of their principal in the hall with them. She tried not to laugh at the ridiculous face Harry made before they both hurried off in opposite directions.

*Now*

Tests and scans, X-rays and blood work. I feel like an alien being poked and prodded for scientific research. My body ached until they gave me some painkillers, and now they've finally left me alone to rest while they determine if I can go home or not. Harry sat in the chair next to my bed, using the remote to turn the channels. 

"Football's on. You want to watch something, Cil?"

I shake my head so he leaves it on the game. I gaze out of the window, the sun has gone down and the lights are everywhere. They dance in my eyes, like artificial stars, as I stare out at them. The absence of pain has brought me back to reality. I suddenly feel horribly awkward, lying in a hospital bed in a hospital gown with Harry hovering beside me like a concerned lover. Not to mention the fact that everyone involved in my treatment thinks we're married. 

"Did you get my phone?" I ask, turning to look at him. He'd been staring at me and now tries to play it off by looking up at the TV. But he isn't fast or smooth enough to pull it off; I saw him. He shakes his head yes and digs into his shirt pocket to pull it out. "Well that's just fucking great! Cracked the whole god damn screen, I swear to God...."

As I mumbled to myself, a look of amusement crosses Harry's face.

"I can get it fixed for you, if you want..." 

His voice trails off as I look at him. I frown and tilt my head to the side. 

"You don't have to stay. I'm calling my sister. She'll come and wait with me and if she can't I can get myself home."

My tone is ice cold, and the confused look on his face tells me he picked up on it immediately. He looks taken aback by my words, as though they were absurd. 

"I'm not going to leave you, Cecilia!"

"Again."

"What?"

"You should say I'm not going to leave you, again, Cecilia."

"What?" I roll my eyes and look back out of the window. The view is far more interesting than his dumb act. "I know you don't have an attitude with me right now!"

"Don't make me curse you out, okay? Just go!"

"You're a goddamn lunatic! I'm not leaving so just shut up and be quiet and wait for the doctor and then I'll take you home."

I scowl at him, my blood boiling, the pain killers wearing off. 

"Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?" I sit up, careful not to bend into the soreness in my abdomen or lean on my injured arm. "Don't think you can just come in here after two fucking years of silence and be my best buddy, cause that shit isn't happening. I mean we could be cool, I guess, but you can't just fucking act like it isn't awkward as fuck for you to be here."

His mouth hangs open in shock for a split second, then he shakes his head as though disagreeing with his disbelief and fires back at me.

"You're kidding? I mean you have to be." I lean back into the pillows of the bed. Clearly he's not giving up on playing dumb yet. "Cecilia they thought you did it all because I was leaving; they wouldn't let me call you, I sent you letters and they sent them back. Your mother-"

"Dont you dare try to put this on her!" I stop him before he can make another excuse. "My mother was crazy about us. She saw you as my ticket into high society."

"And when you lost it that night and told on Peter she saw me as a convenient scape goat. She told everyone who'd listen that you snapped because I was leaving and she wouldn't let you go with me."

"She didn't. She wouldn't....it would have come out in court."

My reasoning is thin at best but it can't be true. It isn't. 

"No one actually believed the story Cilly, and Harrison made sure it never got too far-"

"That's right your Daddy, the motherfucking puppet master, made it go away just like he made you go away and I'm sure he also made you stay away without so much as a phone call."

"No actually that was your mother too." 

"I know she's an easy target, but seriously-

"Just listen to me for a second. Please?" I look at him and nod. I only agree to listen because my head hurts and I don't think the yelling is helping; not because he asked me to."She was your legal guardian and if she said you couldn't have contact with someone the state respected that...I tried anyway, but they wouldn't let me speak with you at all."

I scowl and bite my lip, running my tongue over the hoop. He never lied to me, he was always an honest person; he would say it if he just didn't want to have anything to do with me at the time.

I considered in the beginning when I was still naïve that his parents made him stay away, but I knew Harry better than that; he never much cared what they thought, and they never much cared about our relationship. No one made Harry do anything. So maybe it makes sense that he tried, but not that my mother would stop him. 

Honestly, that part makes sense too, but it breaks my heart.

Why would she do that to me after everything else?

"I kept the letters they sent back...I don't know why I suppose I just couldn't bring myself to throw them away; I wanted you to have them so badly. I wanted to come and see you, but it was impossible. I thought about taking Harrison's jet and having them fly it here, but he'd have killed me."

I smile at the thought of his father's face at the news of Harry stealing his private jet. Harry takes my hand in his and my eyes go wide with curiosity about what he'll do next. He brings my hand to his lips and kisses it, then he kisses across my knuckles, then my fingertips. I brush my fingers across his cheek and he leans his face into my palm. His eyes meet mine and looked relieved. I grin down at him. 

"Well we settled that quickly, didnt we?"

"I missed you. The last two years have been me trying to forget you and find someone else when there is nobody else. I just wanted you, the whole time and it killed me not being able to talk to you, then I realized that you couldn't reach me if you wanted to because you had no idea where I was...Kick wouldn't sneak you my letters because she was afraid they'd make her stop visiting you, I didn't even bother to ask Di."

"You asked Kick to do that?"

"I was desperate."

I smile down at him. He closes his eyes and sighs. 

"I missed you too."

"That goes without saying."

"Oh really?"

"Absolutely. One you said it already and two there isn't a woman I've met yet who didn't."

"Oh is that what you've been doing, screwing around all over Europe to mend your broken heart? You arrogant bastard."

His eyes open and he smiles a guilty smile. I place my hand over his face and push is away from me. He laughs. 

"They meant nothing to me."

I can't begin to roll my eyes hard enough at that lie, and speak mimicking his accent.

"I can't make love to any other girl, Cilly! I only love you...Cilly!"

I pull his beanie off and throw it across the room, then tug gently on his messy brown hair. 

"Don't be jealous! I meant what I said. I didn't love them and so I didn't make love to them. There was only ever you in my heart; you were special."

"Bullshit!" I laugh a little, although I'm baffled. A grown man can't actually think like this."You loved me and you didn't make love to me either, so I don't feel special and you're an asshole."

I try to look angry but end up smiling. I watch him with narrowed eyes as he goes across the room to retrieve his hat. He wasn't a virgin when I met him and I was under no impression that he'd wait for me: I hadn't expected to see him ever again, right? So my envy is childish and vain. 

But I don't care, and I am in no way letting him off that easily. 

"Don't be jealous, it's unattractive." He kisses my palm and sits back in his chair. "You're the only one I ever loved."


	6. Chapter 6: Cecilia

A week later I'm off of all my meds and all healed up except for the cut on my elbow. It required stitches and means I've had to walk around with my arm in a sling to ensure it heals properly. Di lost her mind when Harry and I came into the apartment from the hospital that night, I guess I looked worse than I thought. I managed to change into my pajamas - without Harry's help although he offered it repeatedly - and crawled into bed listening to him and Di in the next room as they caught up and, more importantly, discussed me. They spoke in hushed tones but of course I heard. I got out of bed and leaned my forehead against the heavy wooden door as they talked.

"Should you even be around her, Harry?"

"Why not? She seems like she came out okay all things considered...Right?"

"Yeah now, in this minute, but you have no idea how its been since she came home!"

"It wasn't my fault in the first place, Diane!"

"Lower your voice! I know that."

"Do you?"

"Yes I do...I know I didn't believe it before and you don't have to rub it in, but I came around so give me a little credit. It was a lot to handle for me too, and no one seems to care about that."

I heard her sigh very deeply and the slight ruffle of their clothes as Harry pulled her in for a hug; a smile crossed my face at the thought of my beautiful and pristine Princess Di in Harry's heavily tattooed arms.

"I know that, but Cilly's the one who got locked away for telling the truth, we all have to push our pain to the side and consider that."

"She's my baby sister, I let all these things happen because I'm so selfish. She had to have expected me to know! It was obvious what he was doing to her, we just never bothered to look."

"No it wasn't, Di. He made sure to cover it up." Harry had the decency to keep Di clueless to the fact that she was the reason Peter didn't have to worry about me saying a word. I sighed in relief and I'll be grateful to him forever. "And even if he hadn't it wasn't your job to know, you were a kid too."

"I'm sorry I was so short with you earlier." I heard her step away from him and sniffle. Her voice went back to its usual cordial and polite tone, her moment of vulnerability was over. "Thank you for being with her today."

"It was fate, I really didn't even have a reason to be on that street; my shops on the other side, in the opposite direction. But I'm glad I was."

"So am I. Do you want to stay and have something to eat?"

"No, I better go, actually. I have to meet with my partner to go over a few things about the shop." They stop speaking for a moment. "That's my number, okay. Call me if she needs anything. I snuck it into her phone, but I know she won't call, so if you think she needs me, you call me okay?"

Di didn't respond verbally but I'm sure she nodded. I shook my head against the door thinking I could never figure this guy out as long as I live. Is he like a Disney prince trapped in a tatted up, rockstar, womanizer's body? 

It's really effing confusing, to be honest. 

My ears perked up and my head lifted as I heard his footsteps head for the door.

"Aren't you going to say goodnight to her?"

I tiptoed to my bed, knowing he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to come into my room, and quietly slid under the sheets as his knock sounded at the door. 

"Come in."

I mumbled, pretending to be half asleep as I sat up carefully. He opened the door and crossed the room quickly and quietly on those long spindly legs. 

"I'm sorry I woke you up."

His voice was gentle and hushed and perfectly sweet to my ears. "I just wanted to let you know I'm leaving."

"Okay. Thank you for helping me, today. I'd still be in the ER if it wasn't for you."

I couldn't help smiling as he chuckled at my sarcasm. 

"It was nothing, Cil...anyway, I have to go or Liam will murder me and steal all my money." He kissed my forehead softly, and my body tensed up in a sure sign that my medicine and my concussion had begun to wear off. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

He crossed the room again and opened the door, stepping out before hesitating. I could only see his hand on the knob and the bottom of his shoes through the crack at the bottom of the door but even so I knew he was nervous. I smirked to myself; he hadn't been nervous with me in a long time.

"Um..Cil...you wouldn't want to come and see the shop sometime, would you? I mean like not right now cause its a complete bloody mess, but, when I get it together and everything. You know? Maybe?"

I couldn't help myself; I stayed quiet for a moment, letting him dangle as he wondered about my answer. 

"Yeah I would."

"Okay, cool." He breathed a sigh of relief, I smiled as he left the room, mumbling: "Well, goodnight then."

"Goodnight, Harry."

He has texted me every day since then, once in the morning to see if I'm alright and once at night to ask me about my day. Texting Harry is easy and fun, and gives me enough space to not feel pressured or overwhelmed by his sudden reappearance in my life. 

He still knows how to handle me, and more amazingly he still is willing to try. I shuffle my feet and ignore the chilly wind that blows as I stand on the steps of my therapist's office. I smile at his latest text.

Harry: Morning Cilly....it's technically still morning right?

Cece: It's only 11:45 so yes.

Harry: they painted the shop yesterday.

CeCe: I know, you told me.

Harry: come see it? 

I suppose I've put it off long enough, and he's been kind enough to not press the issue. I wouldn't mind seeing the thing that lured him back to New York. 

Why not?

CeCe: text me the address and I'll b there in an hour.

Harry: Cool.

The therapist's office is warm and smells like coffee as usual. Mrs Carter is thoughtful and considerate, I trust her more than any of the other state workers charged with keeping tabs on me since my discharge from the home. 

I sit in the recliner in her office and recline, trying to wipe the idiotic smile off of my face before she comes in and asks me about the cause of it.

"You look happy!"

She chirps in her cheery voice, her ombré blonde hair flat ironed perfectly straight, her all black suit tailored perfectly as well, her heels incredibly high and the bottoms bright red. 

I sit up and try to scowl. 

"Happy is a stretch, lets not get carried away here."

She chuckles and sits at her desk, looking thoroughly over dressed for her job. She's a state employee but she dresses like she should work on Fifth Avenue; her beautiful face is always perfectly made up, her clothes never a second out of fashion. But somehow even beyond that she is stunning, a bit too curvaceous to be a model but still all she ever wears are designer clothes; clothes no one on a state salary could afford. 

The feminist in me is screaming but it stands to reason; her husband must be loaded.

"Alright, but you look good anyway. Your smile is beautiful, Cecilia."

"As opposed to my hideous resting face?"

I quip and as she laughs again I stand and move to the elegant armchair in front of her desk.

"Give me a break, okay? The holidays are in full effect and I'm frantic." I scoff a little; if this is what frantic looks like for her she should sell whatever drugs she's taking to her patients. "I'm hosting thanksgiving this year and its daunting to say the least."

"Just buy the whole dinner already cooked from the grocery store...get it the day before and freeze everything, then put it in baking dishes and warm it up the next morning, no one will ever know and the house will even smell like you've been cooking all day."

Her mouth hangs slightly open and she looks shocked but also impressed. I shrug as though my mind is no surprise to me.

"That's genius. Devious, manipulative, and completely dishonest, but genius nonetheless." She shifts back in her chair and looks at me as though seeing me anew. "Did you just come up with that on the spot?"

I nod and shrug again.

"I'm a fixer; if there's a way out of something I'll find it. At least where other people are concerned."

"You are a very resilient young woman, Cecilia, no one could deny that." I look away as her eyes fill with sincerity and warmth. She means what she says and I can appreciate that, but of course I have no idea how to respond. I'd hate to start an expletive laced rant about how I can't handle compliments. "So your mother tells me she spoke with you last week; how did that go?"

I can't remember ever being grateful to talk about my mother, but I am now.

"It didn't really; we only talked for a few minutes. Like less than five."

"She sounded excited about spending thanksgiving with you..."

"She won't be spending Thanksgiving with me."

"Cecilia, remember what we talked about, about forgiveness?"

"I can't fuc-" I stop myself and take a deep breath. "I can't forgive her for what she did. I know she didn't know what Peter was doing to me, but when I told her...well, you know what happened."

"Your mother had her reasons. None of them at all justify what she made you feel like or how she handled things, but perhaps you should pity her instead of resenting her. She isn't as strong as you are."

"I'm not there yet, Mrs. Carter. I'm not even close." I sigh and put my hand to my mouth, peeling the frayed skin around my nails once again. "She told me, last week, 'we love you.'...WE. As in her and P-"

I stop before I can say it, standing up from the chair and pacing the floor. I want to curl up in a ball and have a panic attack, and all I've done so far is think of speaking his name. 

He's still the wolf, and I walk around like Billy Badass trying so hard to make everyone think I'm just angry with him, but the truth is he terrifies me, just like he always has. 

"Cecilia, you're safe here! Your entire life is different now; Peter is nothing to you anymore."

"Except he is. Isn't he? He's the reason I can't be touched, the reason I mutilate myself, the reason I have a criminal record, the reason I can't go home, the reason my mother is ashamed of me, the reason my face is almost unrecognizable, the reason I can hardly have a conversation without cursing enough to make a sailor blush...he's everything!" I'm not breathing any more, I'm not seeing either, I'm just a blur, a mess of words and movements that I can't quite control. "I'm still that girl trapped underneath him staring at the wall waiting for it to be over. But its never over...it never ends." I pace, tears welling in my eyes but never falling, as usual. "No; Peter has everything he ever had, nothing happened to him more than a few rumors that dog him every now and then, and most people don't believe them anyway. I..." I hear myself and my rage shifts; I'm suddenly angry with myself. "I...I fucking can't with this shit. This is fucking ridiculous; every motherfucking week I have to drag my ass over here and lay the same old shit out on the table. It gets absolutely no fucking where, and now I'm really about to lose my whole entire shit. It's like really what the actual hell am I coming here for...this is bullshit." I pant, trying to catch my breath as I continued to walk the same path back and forth across her office floor. The grey walls and white trim pass before me as I peel the skin of my finger enough to draw blood. The sight of the blood calms me down. I begin to breathe more easily and stop pacing. This pain is better: this pain I can understand, this pain I can control, this pain I can fix. I gaze at Mrs. Carter and speak softly. "Could I have a bandaid?"

"Of course. Sit down." She reaches into her drawer and I retake my seat. She opens the bandaid and places it over my wounded finger. I mumble a quiet thank you, she smiles at me. "We are getting somewhere, Cecilia, you've never opened up that freely to me before...and your feelings are valid and important and completely normal-"

"Normal? Bullshit, Mrs Carter."

"Normal under the circumstances, CeCe." I smile at her use of my nickname; I would have gotten much farther in my therapy at the home if she had been there instead of the shrink. "You have a right to have your voice be heard, and people, like me, who care about you have an obligation to listen. That's how relationships are meant to work."

"In a perfect world, anyway."

"You are getting better, Cecilia, no matter what it feels like. Trust me I'm a professional." I roll my eyes and smile at her, nodding my head. If she says so I guess I'll take her word for it. "Now speaking of relationships," her lips curl into a playful smile; my brows knit together in confusion. "Di tells me Harry Styles is back in your life."

I lower my head to my hand and purse my lips. 

I can't.

"Di talks entirely too much."

"Before you get upset, I asked her! When I heard about the bike accident I tried to find out why no one at the hospital informed us, then I realized it was because Cecilia Styles was run down by a bike, not Cecilia Braddock." I can tell by the tone in her voice that she's amused. I blush deeply from my seat in the chair and can't bear to look up at her. "So, Mrs. Styles, what's it like to be with Harry again?"

"We're not married."

"I realize that."

"He just said that because his last name opens doors...since his dad is who he is..."

"Of course." 

"And I'm not with Harry, or anyone else. He's just a friend."

"A friend you used to be madly in love with...to hear Di tell it anyway."

Di should learn how to shut the fuck up sometimes.

"That was a long time ago. It feels like that was someone else."

"Do you like that other person?"

"I love her."

"Why?"

"I don't know...she was innocent, and kind; everyone loved her."

"And Harry loved her?"

"Harry loved her more than anyone else." I smile to myself, looking sheepishly up at Mrs. Carter as I continue. "And I hate that he has to find out that she doesn't exist anymore."

"I'm not convinced that she doesn't."

"Trust me, she doesn't."

"But she could. You just have to be willing to give her a chance to live again. Maybe you had to become someone else to survive the past few years, and now that you're safe, you can find a way to bring back the girl you were before...or maybe a healthy balance of the two."

I shrug my shoulders, wondering if I should worry about a therapist who doesn't seem to mind me talking about my self as two different people. There is no use going on and on about it; Mrs Carter's optimism and enthusiasm for the future are infectious, but my guard is up way to high to be swayed by her words. 

I killed the innocent part of myself a long time ago, and she is never coming back.

**Author's Note:**

> this has all been posted on wattpad. i just really want to know if its actually any good so i hope someone will read it and give me feedback. thank you..


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